Green Porcelin
by Riddiklus
Summary: Lily Evans Potter. The petite tall vixen we have grown to love..or is she? How did she become such a bookie? Why does she loathe our heros Father so? Come behind the green porcelin eyes..into the life of the famous redhead at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft


Call me Lily. Just, Lily. Though I have various nicknames, both wanted and unwanted, I prefer Lily. This tale, is quite complex..so, how shall I begin? Like a biography? I am born..I grew up. Or shall we begin at the beginning of my..'problem'? Yes, perhaps it is best to begin there. But do not fret, dear reader! I will take care of you, when you are finished with this story..you will know it inside and out, top to bottom. And then, though I do sound professor-like, maybe you will learn something from my experiences. Something worth your time, otherwise, why would you be reading this if there was not point correct? Now, my endless ranting with cease..and the story of my life, will begin.  
  
First of all, let me say I have never been the petite girl everyone describes me as. Indeed, I am tall. In fact, at the age of eleven I was five foot seven, towering over most of my fellow peers. However, I am nothing near the stick that would blow away in the next windstorm. The issue of my weight began at the age of eleven. Before, my family ate like kings..in a matter of speaking. Merlin! Sunday dinners were a social event for the Evans' family. Though I gained sizes, I never noticed a thing. Please note here, I was never as large as a whale. I was bigger than most, but still could fit into all the girly tees and bellbottom pants they were wearing. My mother, a plus sized woman, had never seen a problem. Being a stay-at-home mother, she spent most of her day in the kitchen buried behind numerous pots and pans. Even Petunia, whom was large herself, carelessly indulged in the various pastries and fried foods our mother made us. To me, life was good..great even. I had lots of friends whom never saw a problem with my size, was doing quite well in my primary school..and had a great home life. My parents, even my father who spent long days at the office, made sure they spent time with Petunia and I. Wether it was a walk in the park, or trips to the local beach. This, brought Petunia and I close as ever. I had heard stories about siblings ready to tear at each others throats. Not us, we went together without problems.  
  
All of this Changed upon my eleventh birthday.  
  
Ah! I remember it as if it was yesterday. I awoke that morning to my sister sitting at the edge of my bed, grinning widely. "Get up!" She squealed happily, throwing back my bright (almost neon) pink comforter. At this time, 1971 our room was as different as night and day. Her half, was neat and professional looking. She had a drawer for everything, properly labled. Hell, even her socks were in a neat pair. The one poster she owned, a large smiley face no less, was framed lined up with the bed in a symmetrical form. Mine? The exsact opposite. Socks, pants and shirts hung out of my dark oak dresser. Brushes and hair ties were out of place. Wherever I took my hair out, I left it there. Clogs and other shoes sprawled out making it no easier to find one pair over the other. My posters were mismatched, put where ever there was a vacant spot to place it. Now, before 1970..I was a huge Beatles fan..or as they were formally known as, the Quarry Men. Their early work my personal favorite. Mum had a few of their records..lent them to me in 1967..when I first became interested. She had told me stories of when dad and her had gone to see them once in a club in Liverpool, before they were famous. Though a popular American muggle band, they lost their clean-cut look that my mother used to swoon over. Then, in 1970, they broke up. It was a real shame really, Ringo Starr being my favorite. Even though I was too young to remember most of their work. I hoped to travel to Liverpool one day actually, but enough of my girlish ramblings. The band breaking up didn't stop me from listening to their records. I liked 'Meet the Beatles'. That record hardly left my record player.  
  
Petunia knew this, constantly complaining the music was too loud, or she couldn't think straight. This was funny to me because Petunia's sleeping habbits were quite the opposite. The girl could sleep through gun shots. But that wasn't the case today. Here, at roughly eight in the morning, Petunia was up, ready and waiting for me. I rose up out of bed, still in a daze. I had stayed up late the previous night..and would of much rather stayed in bed. However, she seemed bent on tearing me from my blissful slumber, so I obeyed her wishes. "Dressed! Downstairs!" She said in a commanding tone, though never loosing the grin. Hesitantly, I opened my dresser drawer and rumuged about for something to wear. Finally, I had deicded upon a lovely pink floral shirt my mother had picked up for me last week, and my usual faded, worn out, but beloved bellbotom pants. I didn't bother with shoes, it was mid june! All the while, Petunia stood in the doorway, paitently waiting. There! I was dressed! Running in front of the mirror, I finger-combed my bright red curls. That's the thing about me. I am the only Evans I know of with red hair. Well..maybe Great Aunt Floe had red hair, but you can't tell now. My family is notorious for having dark hair. And then, I was born. The oddball..Once, at my primary school, I had a kid come up to me and ask if I was adopted. I asked my mother, she told me that she had a distant cousin who looked just like me, and that's where I got my looks from. I didn't press the matter further. Figure-wise..I was just like my father. Broad shoulders, and heavy thighs. I wouldn't say my waist was large, but it balaced my upper and lower half. All and all, I thought I looked good. So, without another thought on the subject, I ran downstairs to greet my parents.  
  
The first, was my father. Daddy, or Louis Evans as his assosiates called him. Sometimes mum called him Louie' when she thought we weren't looking. He was in the third process of his morning routine..reading the newspaper, checking the latest football scores. Now, mind you, football is not to be confused with American football. Football..is the American equlivance of Soccer. Not sure why they call it football..tackle-ball might of been a more fitting name. It certantly looks painful, recalling the glances I have seen at the local pub here and there. But there he sat in the living room, reclined back, the sports section opened to page A4. I leaned over, affectionately giving him a feathery kiss on the top of his head. Right away, he had known it was me. "Happy Birthday darling." He said softly, yet muffled through the paper. My father had never been a very affectionate person. I don't think he didn't want to..just didn't know how. "Mornng' Daddy." I answered, surpressing a grin. "Your mother has breakfast in the kitchen." "Thanks." I responded quickly scurrying into the kitchen. Now, on our birthdays, or any family event for that matter, Evans women have been known to bake in surpluses. And the theory had prooved its worth again. Lo' and behold the moment I entered, the aroma of bacon and syrup flooded my nostrils. Intoxicating as it was, I glanced at the breakfast table. Stacks of fluffy pancakes, piles upon piles of every brand of bacon and sausages. She had even placed out a small plate of scones. Of course, tea was also being served along with the meal.  
  
"Morning' Lil'." My mother greeted warmly, hidden behind a pile of dishes to be washed. My mother, Patricia, Patty..even Patty-Cake as my Aunt Isabelle called her, was a short round woman. Face glowing, surrounded by chocolate brown curls..she never seemed to frown. The more suttle of the family, she spent her days in the kitchen..or helping us with our daily activites. "Lo' mum." I said taking a seat at the head of the table. And without another word I began to pile food onto the porcelin plate in front of my place. "You forgot to open your presents!" Petunia scolded, appearing before me.  
  
I merely nodded, mind elsewhere at the moment..my plate already half done. Petunis proceeded to pick the top box from a pile of brightly wrapped presents. She then thrusted a pink and purple colored paper box with a blue bow into my lap. "S' from me." She stated with a sense of pride, waiting for me to open it. And I did such, tearing into the present. What once was a neatly wrapped gift..was now a shredded pile of paper in my lap. And there, where the mystery of what was in side..had now been revealed. A small porcelin doll sat starring up at me with those large black eyes, the way only a doll could stare. Her bright Christmas red hair curled around her porcelin face. Thick lashes framed her black eyes. Red painted lips curled into a smirk. An Emerald green velvet dress fit snugly around her doll frame, a green bonnet to match. And to top it off two shiny black doll shoes sat upon dainty feet, white hosery underneith. She was flawless. I was breathless. I had never owned a doll before, though my mother had tried to get me to play with them. Doll clutched in my hands, I rose up, giving Petunia a rather hard squeeze. My mum was beaming at this point, another one of those 'kodack moments' she would tell our children about. "Thanks Pete." I muttered quickly, pulling away so I could admire the doll. "I made it!" She exclaimed proudly. "Well..not the doll, but gran helped me make the clothes.." She later admitted, sheepishly. "I think it's brilliant." I responded, fluffing the skirt.  
  
Throughout the day, various relitaves (some I knew, others whom were alien to me.) came for tea and scones. I sat there, bobbing my head. It was all the same, how is school? My you've gotten big! Your turning into a beautiful young lady! Then, they drilled Petunia. Petunia loved attention, more than anyone I have ever met. She loved to be at the center of a room, answering the most absurd of questions. Even if it caught their eye for five minutes, Petunia was known to do it. She could ramble on about things she had no idea about. This was even more frequent with my parents.  
  
But at last, the day had come to an end, and we were all in the sitting room. Mum and dad were reading, my mother glued to an article about a new carrot cake, we prayed she would never try it. Dad was reading another one of his mystery novels, of course. And Petunia and I were playing a game of 'Go Fish'. So far, I had been the undespuited victor. Then, the most peculiar thing happened. Out of the blue, a letter literally flew out of the fireplace, and into my lap. I jumped, instinctivly. Petunia was less frightened, peering down at the letter. She held it up to the lap, peering at the cursive script. "Lily, it's for you." She said, holding out her hand, a confused look on her face. By this time, my parents had stopped with their excessive reading, two pairs of green eyes focused on me. Hesitantly, I took the letter, flipping it to the back. A wax seal secured the envelope. With a shrug, as if it was nothing, I tore open the seal pulling out the parchment within.  
  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmaster Albus Dumbeldore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Internation Confed. of Wizards)  
  
Dear Miss Evans, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equiptment. Term begins September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.  
  
Yours Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress  
  
I starred at it, half in disbelief. My father held out his hand, and I gave it to him to read. After a few moments, he shook his head. "S'a joke." He muttered, crumpling the paper. "Wait." My mum said solomly. "Let me read." With hesitation, he un-crinkled the paper, handing it to her. I had never seen my mother so serious. Her eyes studied every inch of that paper. It seemed like an eternity before she gazed back at me. "It isn't one of their friends, Louis." She said in a meek voice, almost afraid. "It has to be! You know as well as I do, Patty, that there is no such thing as a witch! There stories, nothing more than that. Have some sense, please." He responded in a stern voice. "You think half of the eleven year olds in this town can spell this well?" She asked, holding up the letter. "Petunia..Lily, please go upstairs." my father asked us, rubbing his temples. Petunia and I raced up the stairs, still confused. It was only a letter..there was no such thing as a witch or wizard, right?  
  
(A/N: This is the prologue. You don't have to read it..but it provides valauable information that will help you understand her later on in the book. Boring? Somewhat..but it had to start somewhere.) 


End file.
